


The Sorcerer's Storm

by EmmasHouse



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Depressing, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Violence, kind of, magic is legal, this is not a happy story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-01-23 20:01:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21325843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmmasHouse/pseuds/EmmasHouse
Summary: Everyone in Albion knows that Arthur Pendragon is the savior of magic. Children across every kingdom grew up with the stories of how the High Priestess Nimueh sacrificed herself to give life to the Prince. They all know how Prince Arthur’s birth made the cold king of Camelot take mercy on magic-users. At least that’s what the stories say.Everyone in Camelot knows that Uther Pendragon keeps all magic under his thumb. The children have memorized what types of magic are acceptable, and what types will get them killed.An alternate version of canon, including a very much alive Ygraine Pendragon, a man-eating dragon, and of course, forbidden romance.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 61





	1. The Dragon's Call

The walk to Camelot was the third worst experience in Merlin’s life. The cold was obscene, trying to freeze him from the inside out. The storm must have been magic, his kin’s way of punishing him for his transgression. The wind had teeth, and cut at his skin every time his coat slipped off his shoulders and wrists. The snow burned his skin, undoubtedly made more acidic through magic. His face bore the worst of it, little droplets of snow burning through his flesh, the wind making thin, painful lines across his cheeks. Merlin knew he would wear these scars for a lifetime, maybe longer.

There was a distinct apathy Merlin held towards the whole situation. He spent seventeen years sustaining Ealdor, magically growing crops, purifying water, healing the sick. He was the golden boy of the village, loved by everyone. Merlin spent so long thinking he was invincible, encouraged by their love and praise, that he forgot to play it safe. He forgot that they would burn him regardless of the magic.

Squinting through the forest, Merlin could see the lingering flames of the body burning. He could still smell it, even. He left before he would see it though. The remains of a boy he’d grown up with, Peter. His first crush, his first kiss. A boy who burned today, for Merlin’s carelessness. Joseph found them in the woods, fast asleep in each other’s arms. It wasn’t scandalous or disgusting, it was love, however twisted it was in the eyes of everyone else. But they knew what the risks were when they started dancing around each other. They knew the relationship could only end in tragedy, and someone’s blood. Merlin just thought it would be his. 

But he hadn’t accounted for Hunith’s determination to never lose another loved one. Merlin’s father was forced to leave her before Merlin was born, as Uther’s men hunted him down. When Arthur was born to a barren woman, and King Uther retracted the laws on magic, Merlin wasn’t even born. Hunith and Merlin’s father, whose name he was never told, wept that day, knowing that when they had a child, they wouldn’t be hunted, like their father. They would get to live freely and happily. Of course, that would never be the case for Merlin. 

Warlocks, dragonlords, and druids were still killed publicly, for holding too much dangerous magic. Having magic powerful enough to light a candle was perfectly fine, celebrated even. But to control the weather, manipulate nature, stop time, change fate, that was dangerous. Merlin was still as likely to be hunted as his father if he didn’t learn to control his magic. But Ealdor didn’t care. The people celebrated the blessing that Merlin’s power gave them. He single-handedly saved them from starvation four times, and saved their children from too many close calls. They didn’t care about the magic, not until he fell in love with a boy. 

_+_

Merlin arrived in Camelot a week after he left Ealdor, with no food, no water, and no sleep. His face was raw, blue and purple from the storm, his jacket frozen to his skin. There were scars on his face, as expected. White, silvery little cuts that followed his cheekbones, the veins in his wrist. There was only one angry splotch of scar tissue from the snow, on the left side of his jaw.

Gaius took him in, months earlier than he’d expected. Months ago, Merlin agreed to train under him, learn to mask and control his magic when he turned eighteen. But after Peter, Merlin had to leave suddenly, without giving Gaius warning or explanation. 

Gaius spent the first week trying to shake the cool hues from Merlin’s skin, with fire and blankets and spells. He tried to get Merlin to eat, despite his loss of appetite, to get him to sleep, despite the nightmares. Merlin knew that it wasn’t fair to Gaius, really. He was expecting his nephew to come to him, bright and eager to learn. Maybe a little sharp and sarcastic, typical for a boy his age. Gaius wasn’t expecting the broken mass of ice that Merlin showed up as. But he cared for him anyways. 

Merlin cried too hard for someone so sleep-deprived when Gaius finally got the story out of him. Gaius held him, and told him that he was sorry. Sorry that Merlin would have to live a life in hiding, for too many reasons. Sorry that everyone Merlin loved died for things they can’t control. But Merlin knew that Gaius was really only sorry for what was to come. 

They fabricated a story easily. It wasn’t too far from the truth, unfortunately. Merlin got to keep his name, just not his identity. He was the son of a medical sorcerer, who died before Merlin’s birth. Gaius told Uther that Merlin had small proficiency in healing small wounds, but had great potential for an apprentice. They then told the King that Merlin was attacked in his village, by anti-magic radicals and had nowhere else to go. Queen Ygraine teared up at this, having a soft spot for boys around Arthur’s age. Especially ones as seemingly helpless and frail as Merlin. 

So, they let Merlin stay in Camelot, with Gaius, mostly out of guilt, and they would never know the actual truth of Merlin’s story, or who he really was. 

_+_

Merlin recovered slowly, letting the effects of the trauma slip out of his body into the Earth, tied to his magic. He started to feel happier, learning how to control the force within him, make beautiful things out of it. He was happy to learn healing magic from Gaius, and use it to help people every day. He had found a friend in the Lady Morgana’s maid, Guinevere. The two of them spent long nights talking and sharing stories of their childhoods. 

Gwen gossiped with Merlin about the fights Morgana got into with the prince, Arthur, who Merlin had yet to meet. It was strange to hear people talk about the prince so casually, when he was a legend throughout every kingdom. Arthur was the man who restored magic to Albion, who made Merlin's life possible, even if he did it unintentionally. Arthur was more of a myth than a person in Merlin’s mind. 

_+_

Unfortunately, Arthur was not the noble and glittering legend that Ealdor’s parents made him out to be. Arthur Pendragon was a bully. He worked his servants to near exhaustion. When Merlin found his manservant, with a broken arm and a concussion, he had to say something (or the magic would say it for him.) He felt hot rage sizzling beneath his skin, incredulous at how a man could be so cruel. Of course, he didn’t know it was Arthur, one of the most important people in the kingdom, that he was shouting at. Merlin only saw a noble, with golden hair and a superiority complex standing in front of him.

Merlin healed the servant before spinning on his heels, eyes flaming gold. He could tell by the blurry edges on his surroundings, ringed in halos of gold. 

“Alright, you’ve had your fun, friend. But that’s enough.” The blond man turned away from the other knights to look at Merlin. 

“Do I know you?” He spoke with a stable, commanding tone, but Merlin could hear the venom behind it. He straightened his posture, trying to seem tall enough to warrant this conversation. 

“Merlin.” He responded, feeling his eyes dull in color, back to blue. Arthur only laughed before taking Merlin’s hand, a gesture that should have felt respectful, but somehow felt condescending.

“So you’re the new apprentice then? I must admit, I’m not impressed.” He let go of Merlin’s hand, wiping his own hand against his trousers, disgusted. 

“What are you then? Beyond the most narcissistic bastard in the kingdom.” And in an instant, Merlin knew he’d made a mistake. He saw the jaws of the other knights drop as Arthur swung the flat edge of his sword at Merlin’s knees. Crumpling to the ground, Merlin bit back the tears forming in his eyes from the pain. 

“Prince Arthur. Pleased to make your acquaintance,  _ Merlin.”  _ And with that, Arthur walked off, leaving Merlin immobile on the ground, struggling and unable to heal himself through the pain. 

_+_

Gwen and her brother, Elyan, helped Merlin back to Gaius’ chambers. Gaius healed him easily, but scolded him for his attitude towards the prince, of all people. 

Gwen and Elyan left as soon as Merlin was healed, Gwen shaking with rage and Elyan trying to calm her down. 

Gaius left Merlin with a bowl of soup and pain medication, before leaving to watch the execution scheduled for that day, of a man named Thomas Collins. Thomas’ magic, which allowed him to grow crops slightly quicker than normal, was deemed “too powerful” by the King. (If only he could see what Merlin can do.) It made Gaius feel terrible, Merlin knew, every time Uther asked him to watch. But Uther felt safer having a sorcerer he trusted by his side whenever he decided a certain sorcerer was too powerful to live. Merlin was given the afternoon off, and spent the day brushing up on magical theory. He wanted to know why it was so difficult to heal himself. 

He was reading the same sentence over and over again, (“Magic calls upon energy that it is already within the user, so when a sorcerer attempts to heal himself, he only loses more energy, and the wound worsens.”) when the door to Gaius’ chambers burst open by a woman with long, raven hair, Gwen trailing in silently after her. It was Morgana, of course, judging by the way Gwen shadowed her. 

“That bastard! I can’t believe he  _ kneecapped you!  _ Are you okay? _ ”  _ The King and Queen’s ward exclaimed, sitting beside Merlin with no introduction. “I’ll kill him. Do you want me to kill him?” She asked before Merlin could answer her first question. She was frighteningly serious, leaning in close enough to see what Merlin was reading. 

“Gods, no! What the hell?” He turned to face Morgana, whose eyes were rimmed just slightly around the edges in gold in rage. He didn’t know she had magic, that anyone in the royal court did. Surely it was against the law to have anyone with magic power in the royal family?

“Arthur’s such an asshole. I swear he normally knows better.” She ran a hand through her hair, which was elegantly adorned with silver sculptures of birds and small diamonds. “He’s just so clueless when it comes to magic.” She leaned in uncomfortably close to where her breath was blowing the hair on Merlin’s neck. She whispered, “I think he’s just jealous, really.”

Merlin scrambled away from her, towards the other end of the bench. Something about Morgana made him very unsettled. Maybe it was the fact that everything she did so far felt suspiciously like flirting, or like she knew he was hiding something. She kept talking, unaware of Merlin’s change in proximity. 

“But to attack a healer like that? No, my dear Arthur crossed a line. I know Ygraine’s probably lectured a hole through his head by now, but I do feel like there’s something more  _ we could do _ to get back at him.” 

Merlin really, really tried to avoid eye contact, because as soon as he saw Morgana’s mischievous grin he was a goner. The absence of Will, and the pranks they pulled together, was slowly unravelling Merlin’s mental stability. Gwen was his only friend in Camelot, and everything was so painfully serious. He spent his days healing the sick and injured, forcing all thoughts of Ealdor out of his mind. Today a man was going to die for possessing a mere fraction of the power Merlin had. Something about the way Morgana’s eyes glittered with her smile made Merlin desperate to have fun with people his own age. 

“So, anyways, I have a plan. I’m doing it with or without you, but it would be nice to have a little help on the  _ magical  _ front, so I don’t get too exhausted.” Merlin remembered then, startlingly, that using magic was supposed to tire him out. And maybe he should be a little more careful. 

“I suppose I could help you out then. I am only a healer, though.” He adds, trying not to sound like he is capable of anything more than a few spells. 

“I know, I know, Merlin. But the thing is,” Morgana leans in closer, and waves a hand for Gwen to make herself scarce. “Magic’s just politics now. At the bottom of the totem, there are  _ healers,  _ like you. _ ”  _ She says the word like an insult, almost snarling it into Merlin’s ear. “You are people with hardly any real power. You can master a few spells, of course. But only ones to fix other people’s mistakes. So you’re basically a magical servant. Gaius is different though, since he’s also a physician. The magic is secondary to the science, and that’s the only reason he’s allowed in the Court.” 

Merlin swallows, feeling slightly incriminated. It’s almost like she’s daring him to defend himself. Like she wants him to say “No, I’m far more powerful than that. So much so that even Arthur would kill me without a second thought.” But she only smiles sweetly, and pulls away from him. 

“Then you have people like me--seers. We’re quite powerful,” Merlin decides that this is probably just an ego trip for Morgana, not an investigation into Merlin’s own limits (or lack thereof). “We can see the future, and cast a few spells here and there. Nothing too big. Not like sorcerers, warlocks, and druids. Those are the ones we must watch out for.” She says it like a joke that they’re both in on. Like they both know that ‘watching out’ makes you a blood traitor. 

“So, uh, the prank?” He asks meekly. If there’s one thing Merlin cannot do in Camelot, it is go on magical ego trips. It is showing off and getting into trouble. And something told him that becoming friends with Morgana was nothing but trouble.”

“So, as you know, there is a feast tomorrow night. I can’t be bothered to remember what for but it’s happening. Lady Helen is even going to be performing, so it’s only a  _ little bit _ of a big deal.” 

Morgana’s plan was childishly simple, and for the most part, harmless. The idea was to create illusions only Arthur could see, to make Arthur think he was hallucinating. Morgana, apparently, had spent months learning the proper spells to this, but every time she did it successfully, she was too exhausted to move. But, Merlin knew it wouldn’t be a problem for him, so he would have to play out some theatrics for Morgana’s benefit. 

_+_

Something about meeting Morgana made Merlin feel more at peace in Camelot. It was comforting to know that someone with magic could be accepted as a member of the royal family. The most comforting part was that Merlin could see that Morgana had her own secrets, too. She had too much bravado and intimidation, because underneath it, she was nervous. Merlin knows that she too probably wonders if her power will grow stronger and land her on the pyre. The two of them are playing this waiting game together, only it’s her own family that she’s playing against. 

Merlin woke up that night, for the second time since his arrival in Camelot, to an unfamiliar voice, echoing in his mind. The first time the voice spoke to him, on Merlin’s first night in Camelot, it was ignored. Pushed to the back of his mind, like so many other things. But now, with his newfound comfort in the kingdom, Merlin felt bolder. Quickly, he crept out of Gaius’ chambers, not even waiting to put on his boots. 

_ Merlin,  _ the voice growled. It was loud, seeming to come from every direction at once. Merlin knew he was the only one that could hear it, which meant it was magic. He remembered the few times he’d encountered druids in Ealdor, how they spoke to him with their thoughts, always in metaphors and warnings. 

Merlin felt a tug in his gut, leading him down corridors and tunnels beneath the castle, until he finally stopped at the entrance to a large cave. The air was thick with the texture and smell of smoke, almost stiflingly so. It was too dark to see the fire that undoubtedly was raging underneath the castle. Merlin waved a hand and torches lit up along the cave’s walls, revealing a beast in the orange light. Merlin’s footing grew unsteady, as he cowered before the shifting mass of scales before him. The dragon was taller than the castle itself, its gemstone scales moved like flames, shifting between reds and oranges. When the beast turned to face Merlin, its eyes were solid gold. 

“Young warlock… _ ”  _ The voice was hoarse, similar to someone with a sore throat, only it was too deep and coarse to sound remotely human. “How small you are for such a great destiny.” 

“What-what do you mean? What destiny?” Merlin’s voice sounded puny even to his own ears. He sounded small and afraid and quiet, it was a wonder the dragon ever heard him. 

“Your gifts were given to you for a reason.” The dragon curled its long neck into a corkscrew as he leaned in closer to Merlin. “The Prince needs your protection from friend and foe alike. Only with that…” His voice caught in his throat as he twisted around Merlin. “...protection can he succeed in uniting Albion.”

Merlin felt his legs give out (for the second time today) and he fell to his knees, as he made out the details of the dragon’s body. The scales were razor sharp, and only inches from his face. Only as the beast unravelled itself, away from Merlin, did he realize what exactly he was told.

“ _ Arthur?  _ You may be terrifyingly huge and sharp, but you’ve got it wrong. There is no way I am expending a single drop of magic on protecting that idiot.” The dragon only grinned, revealing rows of scarlet-stained needles in its mouth. It went flying into the depths of the cave, extinguishing the torches, and leaving Merlin in the dark.

_+_

The feast went well. Merlin had never seen such finery in his whole life, between the decadence of the meal itself and all of the adornments on the nobles. The clothing they wore, almost all of it was magically made. Morgana’s dress shimmered in the light, left a pool of liquid silver behind her. There were silhouettes of birds flying across the skirt, to match the silver pins in her hair. The Queen’s gown looked as though it were made of living roses. Arthur was dripping in scarlet and gold, looking more striking than Merlin was willing to admit. It was beautiful, really, all of this frivolousness for a meal. It made everything about the night feel special. Merlin felt pain in his side, thinking about how his mother would love to see it. 

The prank started out strongly, at first making Arthur annoyed at the little bugs and birds Merlin and Morgana created to fly around his head. Only, when Arthur realized no one else could see them, it took a turn for the worse. His face paled as he whispered something to his mother, before standing up and heading towards the exit. Morgana grinned at Merlin, satisfied. Was that really how it was supposed to go? Arthur looked absolutely  _ terrified _ . 

Merlin felt awful as he watched Arthur walk towards the corridor, stiffly, trying to hide his trembling legs. Merlin glanced over at Morgana, who raised her glass in his direction, triumphantly. Merlin excused himself to Gaius, before following the Prince. 

Arthur was sitting against an alcove a couple of hallways down from the feast, holding his knees to his chest and whispering to himself. 

“You alright, sire?” Merlin asked, woefully remembering Gaius’ lecture on how to address royalty. Arthur looked up at him, and all Merlin could focus on was the enchanted gold on his jacket looked like leaves falling from branches. But Arthur was there, too, struggling to speak. Merlin then did something he probably shouldn’t have. It was normal for healers to use magic to subdue those in shock, or hysterics, and their high status enabled them to touch royalty. No, the problem was, when Merlin rested his hand on top of Arthur’s head, he forgot to say the spell. He just let a little bit of his magic flow into the Prince, relaxing him. But, of course, he was  _ supposed  _ to use the spells Gaius taught him, to derail suspicion. Arthur doesn’t mention it though.

“I didn’t know you were a  _ healer  _ healer. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been so cruel.” He said softly as Merlin removed his hand from the crown of Arthur’s head. 

“You broke my kneecaps,  _ your Highness _ . Am I meant to believe you would do that to any citizen without magic?” Merlin knew he was starting another fight, but he found it so difficult to think that anyone would hurt someone so casually. 

“Honestly, the way you spoke to me, you’re lucky I didn’t kill you.” Merlin felt disgusted with the prince, once again, and forced the dragon’s words out of his mind. He leaned in close enough to where no one else could hear what he said next, because he knew it could get him killed. But clearly, Arthur didn’t have the guts to kill him, so it was a risk worth taking. 

“You’re going to make a  _ heinous king _ , Arthur Pendragon, and I hope I don’t live long enough to see it.” Merlin whispered, before walking back towards the hall. 

_+_

Arthur returned to the hall, looking pale and sick and Merlin didn’t feel sorry for him. Morgana was looking a little sick, as well, drained from the magic. Merlin decided to limp is way over to Gaius, to divert any suspicions. Lady Helen was standing in the center of the hall, and began to sing. Her voice was beautiful, truly, instilling a sort of peace at Merlin’s very core. No, it wasn’t exactly peace, was it? No… it was numbness. Merlin realized he couldn’t feel his fingers, his nose. 

It suddenly grew very cold, as cobwebs sprawled out across the room and people slumped over in their chairs. Merlin was still, watching everything slow down around him as Lady Helen kept singing, now holding a dagger. From there, it was instinctual. Merlin didn’t have to think about dropping the chandelier on her, his magic was reaching out for it before he was fully aware. Magic was the only sense he had left, as the coldness spread around him. 

The nobles began to shake themselves free of cobwebs, and of the lingering exhaustion. Merlin’s eyes were fixed on Arthur, who looked strangely relieved to see his mother dusting cobwebs off of her gown. Out of the periphery, still a little hazy with gold from the magic, Merlin saw Lady Helen, only now she had the form of an old woman, shift under the chandelier. Her hand was outstretched, with a dagger poised at Arthur’s seat. 

Time slowed, tinged with gold, and Merlin ran towards the prince, pulling him out of the dagger’s path. After that, everything seemed to move too quickly, with Arthur shoving Merlin off of him, the woman’s last audible breath, mentions of debts to repay, and a twist of fate so sharp Merlin could hear it. He could feel himself being pulled towards Arthur by nature itself, the way his magic bubbled beneath his skin when Uther awarded him his new position. 

Arthur’s face was grim, as scarlet bloomed across his cheeks. He refused to meet Merlin’s eyes. Only Merlin couldn’t bring himself to look away from the prince, still covered in moving gold and shaking with rage.  _ Another cruel force of fate _ , Merlin thought, as he prepared himself for a life spent in servitude. 


	2. Valiant

As terribly as Merlin could have imagined being Arthur’s manservant would be, it was undoubtedly worse. The few weeks Merlin had spent as Healer’s apprentice were a dream. He was treated with respect, like he held status and social power. As soon as he was made Arthur’s personal servant, all of that glory filtered away. Sure, being a member of the royal household was supposed to be an honor, but all it really meant was that Merlin had two jobs. Two miserably exhausting jobs. Gaius refused to let Merlin use magic for his duties to Arthur, because apparently people with normal magic couldn’t use it without expending massive amounts of energy. (Merlin was beginning to suspect everyone was just making up “facts” about magic as they went, anything to divert Uther’s vigilant eye.) 

The first day Merlin spent as Arthur’s manservant was absolute hell. The orders were endless, between armor polishing, room cleaning, and holding targets. Merlin knew he would be bruised and sore for days from holding that damn target for hours on end. He made it through two hours before his body couldn’t keep up any longer. As soon as Arthur set his sword down, Merlin was on the ground. It felt so good to not be standing after the morning he’s had. He almost felt like making snow angels in the dirt, he was so happy to be rid of the weight of the wooden target. 

“Mildly admirable, Merlin. Most servants collapse after the second blow.” Merlin rolled over to look up the prince. He was smug, but he looked fairly winded too. His hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, and he seemed to be trying as hard as possible to hide his heavy breathing. If a part of Merlin’s brain entertained the idea of Arthur being beautiful, all flushed and gleeful from practice, it was to be ignored. He’d been down that road before, and he knew how it ended. 

Merlin somehow managed to drag himself off the ground, off the sweet, sweet dirt and back to his feet. No matter how much Gaius healed his bruises, he would have trouble walking. 

“Go on and get yourself healed, then. I’ll be needing lunch soon.” Arthur practically shooed him away from him. Merlin then understood exactly why Arthur, and all the other nobles, were so harsh with their servants. In their minds, any physical damage that was done could just be healed with magic as easily as it was caused. They didn’t think about the energy that the healers, which in Camelot was just Gaius and Merlin, as most magicians struggled with healing magic, would have to expend. No, to nobility, everything was easy, even magic.

“Gaius won’t have time to heal me,  _ my lord.” _ The title felt like venom in Merlin’s mouth, but the way Arthur’s left eye twitched when he said it was worth any possible punishments for sarcasm.

“Then go see the apprentice.” There it was again, the shooing. Merlin could only gape in response.

“I  _ am _ the apprentice!” Arthur gave him a once-over before turning away once more. 

“You’re fine. Just go get lunch.” And that was the end of it. It didn’t matter, of course, that Merlin’s legs were shaking under the weight of his body, or that he couldn’t move his shoulders without feeling excruciating pain. 

_+_

Gaius was out when Merlin got home, as expected. Double checking first to make sure he was really alone, Merlin grabbed the spellbook from beneath his bed. He knew he wouldn’t be able to magic the pain away, because apparently magic intended for healers to suffer. It wasn’t exactly that he  _ couldn’t _ heal himself, it was that the spells wouldn’t let him. Merlin had healed himself plenty of times in Ealdor, when it was needed. There were times when he coughed so violently in the winter that his mother got worried. Then, it was simple. It was just letting the magic loosen its grip a little. He let it situate over his chest, and he’d feel better in the morning. But of course, his instinctual magic wasn’t enough to suck the bruises off of his skin and fix all the damage Arthur had done. 

There is a tournament tomorrow, which meant absolutely nothing to Merlin and absolutely everything to everyone else. The entire kingdom was holding its breath, excitement growing with each new noble that arrived. Not that Merlin would be  _ bored _ per se, he would be very, very busy during the long tournament hours. Not only in helping Arthur, but in healing all the wounded. 

The only upside to the tournament was spending time with Gwen as she taught Merlin how to apply armor. 

“The voiders go on the arms,” She said, piling metal into Merlin’s arms. “The hauberk over the chest, the helmet the head…” More metal, and Merlin nearly tripped under the weight of it all. 

“You know, I’m starting to think they have it wrong.” Merlin repositioned the armor in his arms. “I think I was meant to be Morgana’s maid.”

Gwen only laughed in response. “I can’t imagine the sort of mischief the two of you would get up to if you spent all that time together. Besides, there are very few things I want to do less than serve Arthur.”

Their whole dynamic was really just saying vaguely treasonous things. More often than not, Morgana would join in when she was around. The best part of being a servant to such high status figures was the immunity. Merlin and Gwen could get away with things that other servants would be hung for. 

“Well,” Merlin shrugged out of the armor, “unfortunately, we’ll be serving that prat for a long time.”

_+_

“Merlin, sometime  _ today. _ ” Arthur snapped his fingers as Merlin carried the armor into the tent. 

“It’s-” Merlin heaved. “So heavy.” The armor fell to the ground with a jarring clang. Then he picked up the hauberk, and began fastening it to Arthur’s chest. They fell into an easy silence, Merlin struggling to remember Gwen’s advice. Arthur, chewing his lower lip and avoiding eye contact. 

“Are you nervous?” 

“I’m the prince, Merlin. I don’t get nervous.” 

“Hmm,” Merlin grabbed the voiders, remembering that they go somewhere on the arm. He couldn’t remember if that was upper or lower arm. “Thought everyone got nervous.”

“Merlin?” Arthur said, tearing the voiders from his servant’s hand. He quickly put on the chainmail and motioned for Merlin to grab his cape.

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.” With that, Arthur left for the arena.

_+_

Uther was covered in blood. Not really, of course, but the magic in his overcoat mimicked the image vividly. Merlin wasn't well versed in the magic of seamstresses, but he knew that a powerful witch was behind that coat. It was difficult to look at the king without feeling defeated. (That magic was far stronger than anything deemed legal, but then again, rules don't really apply to the King of Camelot.)

At his side, Ygraine was dressed in purple, with velvet flowers blooming at her waist. Morgana beamed at Merlin from her throne, wearing the same purple as the Queen, only with a belt of thorns in place of roses. Arthur, of course, was in the arena listening to his father's address.

“It is in combat that we learn a knight's true nature, whether he is indeed a warrior or a coward. The tournament begins!” A silent exchange passes between Arthur and the King. A subtle, but venomous look met with a stark confidence that Merlin could only dream of having.

The crowd cheers as Arthur’s blade collides with the other knight’s shield. The clanging of metal on metal, the piercing sound of sword dragging on shield fills the air with tension. Arthur swings his blade at the other man’s chest. The knight falls, with too much grace and gore all at once.

Then Gaius is at his side, healing the slices across his arms, the wound in his gut. Arthur limps over to Merlin as the next two nights enter the arena. 

“Hurry up and fix this, Merlin. I need to see this next fight.” Merlin set his hands on the prince's shoulders, muttering a quick incantation to heal his cuts and bruises. Their attention shifts to the arena.

“Knight Valiant seems pretty handy with a blade.” Merlin comments, but the prince only rolls his eyes in response.

The knight in yellow, Valiant, brings down his opponent down in the first few minutes of the fight. He grins at Arthur as he moves out of the ring. 

“May I offer my congratulations on your victory today, sire?” Valiant’s tone is all Merlin needs to judge the character. Valiant is too brash, too confident. He’s the type of man that hurts people out of spite. Arthur may be cruel and classist, but at least there’s  _ something _ behind his eyes. Bloodlust and victory was all that Merlin could see in Valiant.

“Likewise.”

“See you at the reception then, your highness.” Arthur grinds his teeth, watching Valiant move towards the stands.

“What a creep.” Merlin mutters under his breath. Arthur laughs briefly, before coughing and glaring daggers at his servant once more.

“You need to repair my shield, wash my tunic, clean my boots, sharpen my sword, and polish my chainmail. Before tomorrow.”

Well, at least he laughed once. At least he wasn’t throwing insults or household objects. 

_+_

“Honestly?” Merlin leans over to whisper in Gwen’s ear. “Banquets are boring. All they do is talk about rich people stuff and wear those fancy dresses.”  _ Those fancy dresses that people have probably been executed for _ , Merlin thinks to himself. 

Across the room, he sees Valiant approach Arthur and Morgana, in deep conversation with the King. Morgana blushes as the knight kisses the top of her hand. Arthur grows stiff and tight-lipped, crossing his arms like a child. 

The Queen remains seated throughout the entire affair. She glances around the room periodically, though seems preoccupied with examining the ever-changing print on her gown. The only person Merlin has seen her speak to all night is her maidservant. 

Overall, the banquet is dull. Gwen’s presence and teasing make it bearable, only slightly. 

“Oh, please, Merlin. I’ve never seen Prince Arthur this worked-up before.” She motioned to the prince glaring daggers at Valiant, who was still engaged in passionate discussion with Morgana. “It’s wonderful. He looks like he’s about to explode.”

“He certainly looks jealous.” Merlin remarks, as Arthur stalks over to where his mother is seated. Merlin follows, ready to fill goblets and be far away from Knight Valiant.

“He is not a knight, Arthur.” The Queen says softly. “Not in the way that counts.”

“Well, Father would disagree with that.” 

“Your father cares about different things.” 

“Like marrying off Morgana to the first barbarian that takes an interest.” Arthur grumbles, and Ygraine laughs. 

“He wouldn’t dare.” She says and that’s the end of it.

_+_

The armory is empty when Merlin walks in, thankfully. Most of the foreign knights seem to think that servants are complementary and order him around more than Arthur.

There's so much armor on the floor that Merlin stumbles over several maces and shields on his way towards Arthur’s sword. It's a familiar symphony of clanging metal that the knights have come to associate with Merlin.

He's nearly reached Arthur’s armor when Merlin sees something move out of the corner of his eye, where Valiant’s shield was propped up. 

“Hello?” He calls out into the dark room, before walking over to the ornate shield.The three snakes twisted and curled around one another, forming an intricate knot. The design was mostly flat, but hyperrealistic. It looked as though someone had frozen garden snakes directly onto the shield. Only the eyes were raised, embedded with small rubies that caught the light mesmerizingly.

Merlin’s reaching his hand out to see if the scales felt as real as they looked, when a blunt object hits chest, knocking the air out of him. He slowly turned his head to meet Valiant’s glare.

“Can I help you with something, boy?” 

“No! I’m good...everything is all good here. I was just, uh, getting my master’s armor and I saw something and-”

“Then get what you came for and go.” Valiant snarls, and Merlin is forced to rush out. 

_+_

That night, Merlin dreams of Ealdor. Painfully, he dreams of Will’s face, with the snow in his hair, and his tears frozen to his cheeks. He hears the villagers shouting after him as he runs, accusations of enchantment, and Peter’s mother sobbing and screaming with grief. He dreams of the impact of his feet packing down the snow beneath him. 

He wakes up numb, as if his body remembers the frostbite. Breathing in, Merlin forces himself out from under the duvet, knowing that the only way to keep the memory out is to keep moving. And there will be plenty of moving today.

He spends the early morning getting together healing potions and a list of spells he will need to use on the wounded today. When that is done, he goes to Arthur’s chambers with the intention of waking him.

Of course, Arthur is already up and sitting at the foot of his bed, and meeting Merlin’s eyes the minute he walks through the door. 

“You’re late.”

“And how long have you been sitting there waiting to say that?” Merlin retorts, setting down the breakfast tray on the table. 

“I don’t do breakfast before a tournament.” Arthur pushes himself up from the end of the bed, and moves towards the wardrobe.Today, Merlin can tell that Arthur is fidgety and restless (and nervous.) (That is, if princes got nervous).

“Honestly, Merlin. When will you learn?”

“You ate breakfast yesterday.”

“That doesn’t count.” Arthur grabs a tunic and a pair of trousers and hands them off to his servant. 

“I really can’t believe you don’t know how to dress yourself.” Merlin mumbles as he fits the tunic over Arthur’s head. 

“I know how to dress myself,  _ Merlin _ . It’s a status thing.”

“Gwen says that Morgana can dress herself.” Of course, Gwen never said that and Merlin just wants to see Arthur’s left eye twitch with irritation. 

“She so does not!” 

“She does too!”

“Does not!” 

Soon enough, the argument dissolves into laughter. Merlin must admit, for all of Arthur’s arrogance and cruelty, he has quite a lovely laugh. It is exuberant and joyful and fills Merlin’s chest with something indiscernible. 

Merlin puts Arthur’s armor on him with more ease than yesterday, and Arthur stops fidgeting for this part. So all in all, the morning goes pretty well, despite the rough start. 

“That was a much better job.” Arthur comments when all the armor is on. “Though anything would have been an improvement from yesterday.”

“Well you know what they say. Us healers are fast learners.” Merlin smiles, feeling pleased with Arthur’s half compliment.

“No one says that.”

“Well I do.”

“Oh, shut up,  _ Merlin _ .” Every time Arthur says Merlin’s name, it’s as though it were the most heinous insult he could think of. 

“Good luck, you big prat.” 

They walk to the tournament in silence, both forcing a straight face and refusing to look each other in the eyes.

_+_

“Well you two seem happy.” Gaius remarks.

“He’s not-” Merlin sighs, “he’s not too terrible all the time.”

“Just most of the time?” The old man smiles, and returns his attention to the fight.

“Yeah, most of the time.” Merlin looked over to where Arthur was fighting another knight. He struck the other knight down with a casual elegance that is present in everything Arthur does. 

Merlin hears Gaius inhale sharply as Valiant pins down Sir Ewan with his shield, hitting him once, before standing in victory. The healers wait, the only ones paying attention to the fallen knight while the crowd screams with Valiant’s triumph. But Sir Ewan does not rise. He doesn’t hobble over miserably to the healer’s tent. He just stays down, staring up at the sky without moving.

Merlin is about to voice concern when Gaius, and one of the other healers from out of town bound into the arena. 

_+_

Sir Ewan is dead. Gaius has already said so, but Merlin feels the need to check anyways. When he lays his hands against the knight’s chest, he knows for sure. Of course, the heartbeat is gone but the magic in Merlin’s veins can feel the distinct lack of substance, of soul in the coldness of the body.

There is a distinctly vacant feel to the dead. Merlin has only touched one other dead body in his life, Will’s sister, when he himself was only seven years old. Yet, the memory is forever ingrained into Merlin’s brain. He remembered crying for days, unable to get the cold, barren feeling of her out of his mind. 

He’s shaken from his reverie when Gaius lays a hand on his shoulder. 

“See this?” Gaius points to two marks on Ewan’s neck. “These two smalll wounds resemble a snake bite.”

“Hmm. Didn’t think there were any snakes in the arena.” Merlin swallows, moving past the numbness in his hands. Absently, he thinks back to the snakes on Valiant’s shield, and how lifelike they seemed.

“Don’t be smart with me, Merlin. No matter what Arthur seems to think, you are actually the healer’s apprentice. So pay attention.”

With that, Merlin kneels down by Gaius’ chair and focuses on the body. 

“All of the symptoms are consistent with poisoning--inflammation, discoloration of his skin, bruising near the puncture wound...”

“So if he’s poisoned, why did he die after Valiant struck him? It had to have been foul-play.”

“Not so simple, Merlin. Poison is a contaminating agent. It’s not like a flesh wound or break. What poison does to the body is far more complicated. Once it has entered the patient’s bloodstream, there is little a healer can do. We can use magic to ease the symptoms, but not stop its course. Poison is slow-acting. If it was Valiant’s doing, he would have had to poison Sir Ewan the night before.”

“What if the snakes were magic?” Merlin asks, and his mentor hits the side of his head lightly.

“No, there’s no such thing as ‘magic snakes.’ Not in Camelot. Honestly Merlin, could at least pretend to read the books I give you.”

“Don’t be so hard on him Gaius, not everyone is as academically inclined as you.” A third voice cuts through their bickering, and the Queen is standing in the doorway.

“Your Majesty.” Gaius greets and blanking on the protocol, Merlin nods in agreement. 

“How is he?” She asks, and the gentleness of her voice reminds Merlin painfully of his own mother. Gaius repeats everything he just told Merlin to the Queen while Merlin is hit with a violent burst of homesickness. 

“He was fighting Knight Valiant, correct?” She asks, tilting Ewan’s head to get a better look at the wound.

“Yes, your Majesty. But I suspect that he encountered a snake on his journey to Camelot and the symptoms only surfaced recently.” Ygraine nods, but makes eye contact with Merlin as opposed to Gaius.

“Thank you, Gaius. I will tell my husband and see if there is anything we can do for his family. Merlin, I believe my son requires your assistance in his chambers.” She says, standing up and heading towards the door. “Would you care to walk me back to the castle?”

Merlin nods in agreement, remembering that he really isn’t allowed to say no to royalty (save Arthur, of course.) 

“You know, Knight Valiant’s quarters are only a floor beneath my son’s.” She says softly, as they approach the steps leading inside. Merlin looks at her, with slight incredulity. Was she asking him to spy on one of the knights? Was she asking him to go against Gaius’ judgement?

“What use would he have for me?” He asks, hoping she understands his true meaning as ‘why do  _ you _ want me to see Valiant?’

“He may have no use for you at all.” She nods to one of the guards as they go up the steps. “But there is never any harm in merely checking on your kingdom’s visitors.”

“Okay.” Merlin responds slowly, “I should probably see how he is enjoying the tournament, yeah?”

“Precisely. He is fighting my son tomorrow,” She smiles and looks at him out of the corner of her eye. “And I suspect he is most likely used to a different sort of tournament.” 

They part when Uther comes striding down the hall, demanding his wife. Merlin smiled meekly when she waves him off and he is beginning to doubt whether or not Arthur needed him at all. 

He walks with a purpose, nonetheless, on his way to Arthur’s chambers. He slows down when he reaches Valiant’s chambers.

“Come on out, them. It’s dinnertime.” Merlin hears as he pushes the door open slightly. And the sight was not what he expected. He sees the knight holding a small mouse by the tail, dangling it over his shield. Suddenly, the design shifted, and the snakes seemed to peel themselves off of the shield. 

Without a second thought, Merlin started running back to Gaius.

_+_

God bless Gaius for having faith in his ward. Merlin thought it was a miracle that he didn’t have to convince the old man that Valiant’s shield was alive. What to do about this information was the difficult part. They couldn’t tell the King, because Merlin was already on his bad side by being both magical and poor. Gaius shot him down when Merlin wanted to tell the Queen, because she held very little power in these sorts of situations. Morgana was far too smitten with Valiant to believe he was going to kill the Prince of Camelot. And Arthur, well, Arthur might find Merlin amusing, but he certainly didn’t trust him. 

Merlin contemplated simply showing the shield to the Court, reciting the right incantation to reveal the snakes. Gaius helpfully pointed out how that would prove that Merlin is decidedly  _ not _ a mere low-level healer, and end with his body on a pyre. 

Merlin hated all of the politics that came with magic with a passion. It was a strange status thing, where all magic was considered primitive and low-class. But healers were looked down upon more than seers. If you held more power than a seer though, you were as good as dead. (Merlin was starting to think the only reason such grace was extended to seers was because of Morgana’s position in the Court.)

Merlin wasn’t able to use his power to be useful. (Gaius would argue that healing was useful, even if it was the most difficult magic for Merlin to master and left him feeling drained by the end of every day.) He resented this pale existence he was reduced to--pretending to hold only a fraction of the power inside him, being treated like a slave. It was hardly worth it, even if it kept him alive. Merlin wanted to make decisions without fearing the consequences, without dancing around his own lies.

He couldn’t tell anyone the truth about Valiant, which left him with only one option.

_+_

“I know you’re down here!” Merlin shouted, his voice echoing into the cavern. “You can’t just ignore me!”

“Oh, I don’t ignore anything, warlock.”

“Don’t call me that!” Merlin twisted his head around, searching for the source of the disembodied voice.

“But that is what you are.” When Merlin turned back around, the beast appeared, standing tall and regal. Its scales gleamed scarlet, orange, and blue in the torchlight, like flickering flames. 

“I need your help. There’s a knight using magic in the tournament. He’s going to kill Arthur.”

“And how awful that would be.” It smiled then, exposing rows of sharp teeth, freshly painted red. Merlin shuddered thinking about what the source of that color was.

“You said yourself that I’m supposed to protect him.”

“I said  _ you _ have to protect him. The young Pendragon means nothing to me.”

“Why not?” Merlin responded, hearing the naivety in his own voice. “If he’s supposed to be this great king, doesn’t that affect you?”

“Nothing affects me but gold, blood, and cold iron, Merlin.” It was the first time the dragon had used his name since their first meeting. He said it as though the name held nothing--as if there was no power within it, like the man it belonged to was already forgotten.

“Well how am I supposed to protect him? I don’t know what to do, I’m only seventeen!” Merlin yelled at the dragon, but its grin only deepened. “The Queen’s the only one who’s honest to Gods helped me-”

“Ygraine Pendragon is a coward!” It hissed back, dropping the smirk and inclining its neck towards Merlin. “She cannot help you. Not like I can.”

“Then why aren’t you helping me?” With the dragon this close, Merlin wouldn’t dare to yell. Not when it was close enough that he could smell the sour metal on its breath. 

“I’m always helping, young warlock. I have already taken care of your pesky  _ knight _ . Just remember that all help comes at a price.”

Merlin whirled around when he heard footsteps from the tunnel behind him. Valiant was walking straight towards him, shield in hand, with his eyes firmly shut. He walked so evenly, with one foot in front of the other, that it was almost inhuman. 

“What are you doing to him?” Merlin tried to whisper, but the words wouldn’t come out. He was frozen in horror as Valiant pushed straight past him, and kept walking, straight off the edge of the cave wall. He never heard if the body hit the floor, telling him just how deep the cave went. 

“Remember, there is a balance to everything. The help I give to you is a debt that will be repaid, just as what you do for Arthur will be given back to you.” The dragon dove then, down the cave, to where Valiant must have fallen. 

“In time, young warlock!” It shouted, its raspy voice billowing up the cave like smoke. “In time you will see just what is owed!”


End file.
